Decompression
by Write Here2
Summary: After a rough case, Don finds himself at Charlie's house.


**Disclaimer - Not mine. Don't sue!**

**A/N - OK, this is kind of an experiment. I wrote it pretty quickly, and although I rewrote parts of it, the whole thing was done in somewhere around two hours. Ergo, it probably reads like it's a little rushed. It was supposed to form part of a longer story, but it went off on a tangent, and now it doesn't fit. It kind of works as a one shot though.**

**Anyways, so I decided to use this as a test run. I think the characters are a little off myself, but I only recently started watching the show - maybe two or three weeks ago. If people like it, I will work on that longer story. Plus, if anyone would like to volunteer betaing services (it's going to be quite dark), feel free. **

**I hope you enjoy it, and please review - I'd love some constructive ideas on how to improve.**

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The door creaked as he pushed it open. Don stumbled in, too tired and drunk to care about the noise he was making. It shut with a crash behind him. Under normal circumstances, he might have jumped. Instead, he leant back against it, and slid down the polished wood surface, hitting the floor with an audible thump. He ran a shaky hand through his hair. Today, everything had gone to hell.

This was supposed to have put everything out of his mind, just for a little while. It was a simple plan – get drunk, and fall asleep in his own bedroom. Instead, he had automatically given the taxi driver his brother's address. Now he was miserable and nauseous – and due an interrogation any moment. Don leant his head back and swallowed. In retrospect, he'd had better plans. A feeling of intense shame was starting to creep over him.

"'_Nother drink." He slurred. _

_Don was slumped halfway across the bar. He was too drunk now to hold himself up properly. The bartender stood in front of him, eyeing him critically._

"_One more, buddy, then you're done."_

"_Fine." Don snapped._

_A glass of beer appeared in front of him. Staring at his drinks hadn't provided any answers so far tonight, but he held out hope for this one. Somewhere in his head – the part he secretly attributed to his mother – a voice muttered that he should have been cut off quite some time ago. He ignored it, swallowing a mouthful of beer in the hopes of silencing that voice too._

Creaking floorboards gave them away before they appeared. First Charlie, then his Dad. They stood looking at him with strange expressions. Don looked up, and smiled. He looked down again. Some time during his short reverie, his legs had sprawled out in front of him. He was vaguely aware that the floor wasn't very comfortable.

* * *

Charlie stared at his brother. He couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. When David had called earlier to tell him the case had ended, he'd half expected Don to show up for dinner. When he hadn't, Charlie had assumed he was either seeing Robin, or decompressing at his own apartment. Apparently, neither of those things had been true. He was still staring a minute later, when their father crouched down next to Don.

"Donnie?"

He couldn't remember the last time their father had sounded quite that vulnerable. The smile faded from Don's face. It was a…bizarre expression. Charlie hadn't known quite what to make of it.

His brother's head rolled to the side. "'Lo, Dad."

"Are you alright?"

He was suddenly aware of a strange tension in the air. Don might have been relaxed, but he was the only one who was.

"M'fine."

"You're drunk."

"Little bit."

Charlie raised an eyebrow, and held back a sad smile as his Dad did the same. "Quite a bit, I'd say, Donnie."

"Rough day."

Alan shot his younger son a worried look. They were privy to a lot of Don's moods; they had seen him after some very rough cases. Some very rough days. Still, they both knew that he often tried to spare them the worst that his job had to offer. If this was how today had affected him – had it happened before? Charlie felt a jolt of sadness. He had no idea – not enough data to make a reliable judgment.

"Charlie, get your brother some water."

He offered their father a watery smile. "Sure."

Somewhere between the front door and the sink, it occurred to Charlie that he had never seen his brother this far out of control. He'd seen Don angry, sad, and even obsessed, but this was totally new to him. He grabbed a clean glass and switched on the cold tap. There had been nothing in David's call to suggest this kind of reaction. He ran over the conversation again in his mind.

Water ran over the top of the glass, soaking his arm. Charlie swore. He switched off the tap and poured a little of the excess away. On his short return trip, he realized that there had been something strange in David's tone. At the time, he had assumed the tiredness which had affected the whole team was simply making itself known. Apparently that had been a false assumption. What had David kept back from him, and why? A disturbing thought flashed into his mind – had Don asked his agent to keep something quiet?

He handed the glass to his Dad. Alan spoke softly to Don, who turned his head away. With a strength Charlie had forgotten their father possessed, Alan grabbed his son's face, turning it back towards himself.

"You need to drink this, Don." He said.

A pair of half-closed eyes flickered towards Charlie, who shook his head. He would not crack on this one.

"Not thirsty." His brother muttered.

Their father's face steeled. "Drink the water." He tipped the glass towards Don's lips.

Charlie held his breath. He let it go when Don gave in. "Is he going to be alright?"

"I would think he'll regret this tomorrow morning."

He snorted. "Yeah." Charlie sobered quickly. "But…"

"I knew what you meant Charlie." Alan glanced down at his boy. "Don, don't you dare fall asleep. I'm too old to pick you up."

Another disturbing thought crossed Charlie's mind. He glanced outside. His brother's SUV didn't seem to be out there, but he had a restricted view. "Please tell me you didn't drive here."

"Bartender took my keys. Bastard."

There was a pregnant pause. Charlie's thumping heart slowed to a reasonable pace, but the worries were stacking up. His brother didn't swear that much – especially in front of their father.

"I, for one, am grateful that he showed some sense." Alan eventually said, in a tight voice.

Charlie got the distinct impression that his brother would be getting a lecture, once he was sober enough to remember it. He took the empty water glass from his Dad's hand. The bookcase seemed a good place to leave it. They looked at each other over the top of Don's head, exchanging bewildered expressions, before starting to haul him to his feet. Charlie supported most of Don's weight, whilst their father guided the unsteady pair towards the sofa. He dropped his brother onto it.

"He's really, really drunk." Charlie said softly. "I mean-"

"I know, Charlie."

Their father lifted his son's legs onto the sofa. Gently, he laid the thick afghan over Don, before stepping back. Charlie dashed into the kitchen, grabbed a bucket from under the sink, and raced back to the sofa. He placed the bucket carefully near Don's head.

"Good idea."

"I'll stay up with him." Charlie said.

His Dad raised an eyebrow. "_We_ will stay up with him. Coffee?"

* * *

Don decided that whatever truck had run him over, he'd prefer it if they had done the job properly. His head felt like it was ten sizes too small – the throbbing only worsened after he cracked one eye open. His stomach, meanwhile, was doing all kinds of flips. With a moan, he opened the other eye. From his apparently horizontal position, he could just make out Charlie asleep in a chair. It took a moment before he realized that this was his brother's house – which meant he was lying on his brother's sofa.

It occurred to Don that if Charlie was asleep there, it was probably to keep an eye on him. Ignoring the implications of that for a second, he realized that their father was probably nearby. A glass of water appeared in front of him. He rolled onto his back, to see the man in question.

"How are you feeling?"

Don squinted up at his Dad. "'Kay." He croaked.

He grasped at the glass like it was an oasis, but resisted the temptation to chug it down. Gentle sips were far more likely to stay in one place.

"So."

He looked up again, surprised to find that his Dad was sitting down. "So..?"

"Mind telling us what that was all about?"

Don shot a quick look at Charlie. "What?"

Charlie leant forward. "You came in about three am, so drunk you couldn't stand up."

A sinking feeling that had nothing to do with waves of nausea started in Don's stomach. He searched desperately through his memories, only to find that the majority of the previous night was a mystery to him. The only things he could remember were terse conversations with his team, and – _ah_ – the name of a particularly dubious dive bar.

"Honestly? I don't remember that." He said.

"That isn't reassuring." Charlie bit his lip. "Do you do this often? I mean, you get a lot of tough cases, and I know I don't consult on all of them…." His voice trailed off.

Alan cleared his throat. "What your brother is trying to say is –"

Before his Dad finished the sentence, it clicked in Don's head. He sat up, and regretted it almost immediately. His stomach lurched. A bucket appeared in front of him. Don had always hated throwing up, especially in front of people, but it was impossible to hold back. He heaved, feeling sore stomach muscles tighten. Finally, it stopped. The bucket disappeared, and the glass of water was shoved into his hand again. _Gentle sips_, he reminded himself, _and maybe_ _they'll stay down this time_. It was a few minutes before he'd regained control.

He glanced first at his Dad, then at Charlie. "I'm not an alcoholic, if that's what you're asking."

Twin looks of relief appeared on their faces, but it was little brother that spoke up first. "David called me after you wrapped up the case yesterday."

"He did, huh?"

"Just to tell me it was done." Charlie said. "I think he was worried though. About you."

Don frowned. "Hey, Charlie, I'm OK. Last night was just – a stupid idea, I guess." The corners of his mouth twitched. "An anomaly."

"You told us the bartender took your keys away."

"Good for him."

"Would you have driven here?"

He desperately wanted to give them a definitive no, but with zero memory of the night it was impossible. "I don't think so, Charlie." He shifted uncomfortably. "Look, it really was just a couple drinks too many. I'm fine, we finished the case – you don't need to worry."

The next moment would stick in his mind for some time. Don didn't think he'd ever seen his father so angry. Alan Eppes, mild-mannered ex-retiree, shot to his feet and began pacing.

"Don't worry? Excuse me if I think that's nonsense, Donnie." He snapped. "We just spent half the night holding your head out of that bucket."

He winced. "Sorry."

"We're just concerned."

"I know."

Alan sat down again. He looked older than Don remembered. "I don't think you're an alcoholic."

_Well thank God. _Don didn't like the idea of his family believing that; particularly as he knew it wasn't true. "This really was a tough case. I just – maybe I got a little too focused."

"Yes, that seems to happen quite a bit."

He bit back a retort, alarmed at the rage that seemed to be bubbling up inside him.

"Are you trying to imply something?"

"I'm downright saying it, Don." His Dad looked him in the eye. "You get obsessed."

"And Charlie doesn't?"

He had expected some kind of comeback as soon as the words left his mouth. Instead, his little brother stayed quiet. _A united front_, his mind supplied unhelpfully.

"Yes, he does. And if you remember, you were the one who talked to him about that."

Don stared at the afghan, trying to will his family into another room – or another state. "It was just the case, Dad." He was a little surprised to find that he meant it.

A silence was punctuated, eventually, by a heavy sigh. "You're sure?"

"Absolutely." He smiled weakly. "Anyway, I don't think I'll be able to _look_ at beer for a- what time is it?"

Charlie snorted. "Two pm. We called you in sick."

Don flopped back against the sofa. He might have argued under normal circumstances, but with the world spinning, and the strong urge to throw up returning, he knew that even making it to his office would have been too much. His eyes drifted shut, Sleep dragged at his consciousness. Don just managed to catch Charlie's next comment.

"Colby didn't sound impressed – you left them with all the paperwork."


End file.
